Macleod of Dare eBook

the “white slave.” She made no protest
against the repeatedly announced theories of her father
to the effect that an artist ceased to live for himself
or herself, and became merely a medium for the expression
of the emotions of others. Perhaps the gentle
cousin Janet would have had a clearer view of the
whole case if she had known that Miss Gertrude White’s
awakening doubts as to the wholesomeness of simulated
emotions on the human soul were strictly coincident
in point of time with her conviction that at any moment
she pleased she might call herself Lady Macleod.

With all the art he knew he described the beautiful
small courtesies and tender ways of the little household
at Rose Bank; and he made it appear that this young
lady, brought up amidst the sweet observances of the
South, was making an enormous sacrifice in offering
to brave, for his sake, the transference to the harder
and harsher ways of the North.

“And, you know, Keith, she speaks a good deal
for her self,” Janet Macleod said, turning over
the photographs and looking at them perhaps a little
wistfully. “It is a pretty face. It
must make many friends for her. If she were here
herself now, I don’t think auntie would hold
out for a moment.”

“That is what I know,” said he, eagerly.
“That is why I am anxious she should come here.
And if it were only possible to bring her now, there
would be no more trouble; and I think we could get
her to leave the stage—­at least I would
try. But how could we ask her to Dare in the
winter time? The sea and the rain would frighten
her, and she would never consent to live here.
And perhaps she needs time to quite make up her mind.
She said she would educate herself all the winter through,
and that, when I saw her again, she would be a thorough
Highland woman. That shows you how willing she
is to make any sacrifice if she thinks it right.”

“But if she is convinced,” said Janet,
doubtfully, “that she ought to leave the stage,
why does she not do so at once? You say her father
has enough money to support the family?”

“Oh yes, he has,” said Macleod; and then
he added, with some hesitation, “well, Janet,
I did not like to press that. She has already
granted so much. But I might ask her.”

At this moment Lady Macleod’s maid came into
the hall and said that her mistress wished to see
Miss Macleod.

“Perhaps auntie thinks I am conspiring with
you Keith,” she said, laughing, when the girl
had gone. “Well, you will leave the whole
thing in my hands, and I will do what I can.
And be patient and reasonable, Keith, even if your
mother won’t hear of it for a day or two.
We women are very prejudiced against each other, you
know; and we have quick tempers, and we want a little
coaxing and persuasion—­that is all.”

“You have always been a good friend to me, Janet,”
he said.

“And I hope it will all turn out for your happiness,
Keith,” she said, gently, as she left.